


i come alive somehow

by pummelwhack



Category: Marvel (Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:41:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pummelwhack/pseuds/pummelwhack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When their eyes meet Jane remembers another time, a greater time, when heroes triumphed and science translated magic, not destruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i come alive somehow

**Author's Note:**

> The war described is based on my own half-baked imaginings of WWIII in the Marvel Universe. It does not exist in any canon, comic or otherwise.
> 
> Title taken from a Skillet song.
> 
>  **Warnings:** some violent imagery involving blood, several past character deaths.

She's remarkable in every fact of her existence: Asgardian with black locks, a lady with warrior's courage, and she loves by the same technique as she fights: strong, steadfast, the entirety of her heart driving each action until she's breathless or triumphant.

Jane is very much Thor's the first time they meet; Sif is breathtaking in both stature and beauty and twice as much in her skills of combat. Jane watches with wide eyes as Sif springs fearlessly off a nearby rooftop and sinks her spear deep into the Destroyer's neck. The motion is singular and fluid, the image graceful and terrifying, and when the Destroyer slackens Sif lifts her gaze to smirk at her comrades: an attractive pull of slender lips that brings a blush to Jane's face. (It won't be the last time they share this exchange.)

She returns to Earth for the war and Jane is no longer Thor's by then. Blood flows across the globe so Jane goes underground, does whatever SHIELD orders because she owes them, because it's too late for peace and she's lost the will to do anything but survive. Erik and Darcy are dead. Everyone she knows is dead. New Mexico is gone, hollowed by the missiles. Everything south of Texas is gone as well.

Sif is close to death when SHIELD plucks her from the field, and they put her in the same room Fandral died in months earlier. Jane remembers because she spent Fandral's last few hours at his bedside, squeezing his left hand while Thor held the right. The hours afterwards were spent there as well, in Thor's arms, back when Jane was still his. A lot of things have changed since then.

 _We need her alive_ , Fury's saying when they march past the lab, where Jane's developing weapons because this is her life now; this is all there is for her to do.

_She's not even one of ours. We don't know who she was fighting for._

_She's one of his, one of Thor's, and Thor fights for us which means_ she _fights for us and we need her alive, do you understand me, agent?_

_Yes, Director Fury._

Jane perks up at the mention of Thor and follows them to the infirmary, refuses to leave, claims herself a friend and actually believes it. Jane may not be Thor's anymore but he will always be hers; she'll always feel bonded to him and his world and Sif embodies the very Asgardian spirit Jane fell in love with all those years ago. Maybe she's a little bit Jane's, too.

It only takes a day for Sif to wake, and when she does she jolts to life like Frankenstein's monster. Medics rush inside to shove Jane out of the room, which ends in her favor when Sif panics and tosses two male doctors across the room, knocks the rest out with a punch, a kick, a nasty looking head-butt. Then she's on her feet and blood is pouring from ripped stitches; she looks frightened when her eyes meet Jane's but she's sedated half a second later and Jane doesn't visit the infirmary again.

So she's alarmed when, three days later, Sif smiles broadly at her through the glass walls of Jane's weapons lab, looking healthier than humanly possible and it takes Jane a moment to remember that she's not human at all.

Fury's with her, and when he punches the security code into the keypad by the door all he says is: "She wouldn't shut up about you."

The glass wall splits open and Sif bursts inside to wrap Jane up in a massive hug that knocks her breathless, speechless.

"It's so good to see you, old friend!"

Jane smiles for the first time in nearly a year.

Having already lost Fandral and Volstagg, SHIELD makes careful use of Sif. They send her to the surface for specific missions, specific targets, and when she's not working she's with Jane, watching her assemble bombs with a measured frown on her face.

"I did not realize you built weapons," Sif says, looking strange in solid navy sweatpants and a T-shirt bearing the SHIELD logo over her right breast. "Thor told me you studied skies, the stars."

"There's not much use for astrology these days," Jane snaps, harsher than intended, not appreciating the reminder of what she's become.

"This war is lethal," Sif says. "I've watched it destroy the best of souls." She touches Jane's shoulder and when their eyes meet Jane remembers another time, a greater time, when heroes triumphed and science translated magic, not destruction—a time she's nearly forgotten. The memories are overwhelming but she welcomes them because she hasn't felt anything in months; there hasn't been anything but war and bombs and death in months.

"You have a good soul, Jane Foster," Sif continues, moving her hand so it rests on Jane's chest, where the beat of her heart promptly triples in speed. "Don't let this war take that away from you."

A year's worth of repressed emotion hits Jane at once and then she's sobbing into Sif's chest, mourning herself and all the good she's lost: the convictions and the people, the love. Sif hugs her close but says nothing, makes no noise, just keeps her upright—keeps her together.

Time brings them to Jane's little foxhole of a bunker, her home (whatever that means) for the past year, and the rest is a blur of dizzying desire, frantic hands and frantic kisses—a touch that burns straight through to Jane's soul, shocks it back to life. They move together, naked and breathless as fingers seek sanctuary between trembling thighs and it doesn't feel like healing, it doesn't feel like coming home; it feels like waking up.

It feels like rebirth.


End file.
